


Monsters 'R' Us

by Not_You



Series: Monsters 'R' Us [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Cabins, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gross, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Medical Procedures, Multi, Naked Cuddling, Polyamory Negotiations, Resolved Sexual Tension, Threesome - F/M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Werewolf Bites, Werewolves, cauterization hurts, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:32:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 20,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is one of the last of the old school monster hunters, and finds himself in the company of a werewolf and her human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The temperature hovers right around freezing, and Phil reflects for the hundredth time that he's getting too old for this. But there's a dead boy up the river and Phil is the only hunter for at least three hundred miles and most of the friends he could have called in are dead now. So he's up here in his blind, waiting for the wolf and flexing his hands now and then, thin leather gloves insufficient to the weather. There's a ring around the full moon, and the naked branches of the trees rattle in the wind. He's still not sure if he's dealing with a rabid wolf or a consciously evil one, but it seems more like the latter. There's some real sadism to the way the body was left, and Phil's heart does a good imitation of a drumroll as a wolf comes slinking into his sights. Definitely what he's looking for, probably female, and very beautiful. He takes a deep breath, and then stops, because there's a knife at his throat.

"Put the gun down or I unzip you," the man behind him growls, and Phil takes his hands off the gun and sits back. In a blind this size, it's really the best he can do. "Good boy."

"It's heartwarming to meet someone who really cares."

The unseen presence laughs, but the knife remains where it is, steady as a rock. "Whatever you think she's done, she hasn't. I know, because I watch her. She hasn't been out of my sight for the last three nights."

"And now?"

There's a low, enquiring canine sound from the base of the tree, and the man chuckles again. "She's right there."

"Right, then. I'm not out for the money or the sport. I'm old school."

"What, working for the public good? Bullshit."

"I know, it's hard to believe." He stops himself from reaching for the pendant he wears under his shirt when the first stupid, reflexive twitch of his muscles makes the knife press in hard enough that he feels a droplet of blood forming and not rolling down. "I don't usually ask this of men I've only just met, but if you reach into my shirt you'll find a symbol you might recognize."

The knife stays exactly where it is, but the other hand shoves past his collar and pulls out his shield. "…Who'd you pry this off of?"

For the first time tonight, Phil is actually angry. "I earned that shield, and membership being down is not quite the same as being extinct." There's a moment of silence, and the owner of the knife speaks again.

"You don't seem old enough."

"I'm balding under the hat," Phil snaps, and his captor laughs before rattling off a series of questions about the unseen world that are clearly designed to catch him out. They don't, of course, because Phil is what he says he is. Still, the man asking sounds like he actually knows something, and that's why Phil trusts him when he says that he can manage the beast, even though Phil smells like blood. He takes all of Phil's weapons, even the little silver knife he keeps up by his balls where a lot of guys refuse to pat, and then makes his way down the tree without using Phil's rope at all, the show-off.

"Hey, pretty girl," he croons down below. "Yeah, I know. I smell like stranger. Lookit all the shiny things he has! O so shiny. But yeah, he says he's a real shield, and it might even be true. So we're gonna take him back to the cabin with us. Yes we are." There's a quiet, canine snuffle, and soft laughter, and then the man calls for Phil to join them. He climbs down the rope and pulls it after him, neatly coiling it up around one arm.

"Now what?" By the light of the moon, Phil studies the wolf. She's not the largest he's ever seen, but she's beautifully formed, lean and deep-chested, with a fierce, delicate face and red patches in her grey fur. She regards him with luminous eyes and then glances up at her companion, who scratches her behind the ear like a dog before she wanders a few feet away, raising her nose to the breeze.

"Now we get to the four-wheeler and I hold you captive in our lair until she loses the fur and we can all talk together. Don't give me any trouble, I kind of like you."

Phil sighs. "I suppose tonight's a bust, anyway."

The man seems like he's going to say something, but then the wolf recaptures their combined attention. She stands rigid, on three feet, one forepaw lifted in a combination of pointing behavior and a gesture of almost feline disgust. Her lip curls and a low, hateful growl rumbles up from those massive lungs.

"Hey," the man says, "hey, don't do anything stupid. Please girl, don't--"

She springs away into the trees and he springs after her. In unfamiliar territory with all his weapons in the man's possession, Phil has no choice but to run after them.


	2. Chapter 2

The whole way Phil's new friend yells for the wolf to stop, but she's on a mission. Sometimes werewolves take against each other like this. Usually for human reasons they can't even remember at the time. Now the red wolf jumps at a much larger, darker male, and the man follows her into the fray, silver knife flashing. It's a fucking mess, and Phil is intensely gratified to see one of his own knives fall to the bloodstained snow as the man yelps and curses and the wolves snarl. He snatches the weapon up and dives in, striking the dark wolf in the flank, making him finally turn tail and run off into the night. 

Everything is suddenly very quiet. Just Phil and the man and the wolf breathing. The wolf is bleeding a little and the man is bleeding a lot. All three of them are steaming in the deepening cold.

"Fuck," the man mutters, hands pressed to the worst of his wounds. "Hey, Shield?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you drive a four-wheeler?"

It has been a while, but Phil can. The wolf knows where her friend left the vehicle, and after whining and licking his wounds, she leads Phil there at a speed that has him wondering if he's going to drop dead right here in the woods and be eaten by the wolf. At last they reach the ATV, and Phil takes care to leave the camouflaging branches usable, in case there's a next time. The wolf growls at him, and he understands the demand to hurry up. He roars over roots and through snow as the wolf runs along beside and slightly ahead of him. Each bump rattles his teeth, but they get back to the man quickly. Hauling him onto the seat in front of him, Phil sees that he's younger than he sounded, and feels that his body is a work of art. One with a lot of holes in it, and Phil follows his mumbled directions and the wolf's impatient glances over her shoulder as she runs ahead.

The cabin turns out to be a tiny shack, but all that really matters is that it has a wood stove and a bed. Phil puts the man on the bed and stokes up the banked fire while the wolf paces and whines. Contrary to popular belief, it takes more than the bite to turn a normal human into a werewolf. What it takes is not tending to the bite. Phil looks around and feels a mixture of revulsion and relief to see the iron hanging on the wall. He hasn't had to do this for a long time, and he liked it that way. He puts the iron on the stove and starts looking for something to warm water in.

"Hey, wolfboy. You still alive over there?" Despite the tiny and ramshackle nature of the place, it's actually pretty well-appointed. There are dishes and nonperishable food as well as lamps, rope, chains, fuel, and an impressive assortment of weaponry. Phil lights two of the lanterns, putting one by the bed and hanging the other on the wall beside the stove.

"Yeah," he croaks. "The bleeding's easing up. Probably not gonna die this time."

"Good. I'd hate to lose you when we're just getting acquainted." He gives the fire another poke, and licks his finger, testing the iron. It doesn't crackle, so it's not hot enough yet.

"Even though I'm gonna ruin bacon for you?" God bless the kid for being such a smartass.

"It wears off," Phil tells him, because it is the truth. Sometimes it takes years, but the olfactory memory does fade. All the while, the wolf is skulking around, watching Phil with wild eyes. "Your friend isn't going to bite me when I iron you, is she?"

"Nah." He pets her with his good hand. "She's not as stupid as she made herself look."

The water warms and so does the air. They'll need to eat after Phil irons the kid, no matter how little either of them will want to. Phil tests the iron and finds it hot enough. 

"It's ready," he says, and the kid nods, heaving himself up and limping to the middle of the cabin. He sits on the floor, well lit by the hanging lantern and the one on the table.

"Pass me that bottle," he says, uninjured arm reaching out. He's still oozing, but that will stop soon enough. Phil passes him the bottle. There's no label, but it's either some truly nasty vodka or just honest everclear. Whatever it is, it's raw and strong and the kid downs two big gulps like it's water. He barely even makes a whiskey face, and Phil has to admit that he's impressed. "All right," he growls, hoarse with pain and liquor, "let's do this thing."

There are heavy leather gauntlets here, and sliding them on feels a lot like coming home. Phil used to have a set of these, back when he was rehabilitating injured griffons. He flexes his hands a couple of times, listening to the creak of the leather and getting a feel for the gloves. They're thick and worn glassy-smooth, and he can barely feel the heat when he picks up the iron.


	3. Chapter 3

The first one is always the worst. The shock of it, the suddenness of the smell and the reflected heat. The kid stretches out on the floor and spreads his bitten arms like Christ, looking up at Phil with bright, sharp eyes.

"Don't chicken out now, man."

"Don't worry about that," Phil says softly, kneeling beside him and pressing the iron to the torn flesh of his left arm. There's a sizzle and that distinct and horrible smell, and Phil's patient does not scream. He stares at the ceiling and breathes hard, reflexive tears standing in his eyes. The wolf lets out a dismal keen and skulks a little closer as Phil counts to ten and then brings the iron down again.

"Fuck!" He screams, raw and hoarse and angry, tears rolling down his temples.

"I know." Phil does know, and the scars on his legs ache in sympathy. He sets the iron on the stove again, poking up the fire as the wolf snuffles and whines, licking the tears away. "What's your name, anyway?" he says, staring into the heart of the blaze to give them some privacy.

"Clint. You?"

"Phil." Something about this strikes Clint as hilarious, and he laughs so long and so loud that it worries Phil a little. He turns back to Clint, raising an eyebrow. "I think you're in shock."

"In shock because the goddamn tragic lone monster hunter's name is fucking _Phil_." 

"You can call me Jack Danger if it makes you feel any better," Phil grumbles, checking the iron as Clint laughs again.

“Maybe it does, Mr. Danger. Still gonna respect me if I piss myself?” he asks, extending a leg for the iron. It needs a moment more.

“Won't be anything I haven't done.”

“Decades ago, I bet.”

“Yes, but there can always be a next time.”

“I always thought a Shield would be more stuck-up.”

“The dead ones usually are,” Phil says, and takes up the iron again. The bite on Clint's thigh is the last one, and while he curses and sweats and tears up, he does not piss himself.

“Hooray for me,” he croaks when Phil says as much, and laughs weakly, hissing in pain as he hugs the wolf when she comes to lick his face again. “There, there, baby, I'll heal up,” he says, and chuckles when she whines and licks his nose, gazing deep into his eyes. “Yeah,” he says softly, scratching her behind the ears, “I love you, too.” She curls up beside him like she's determined to keep him warm, and watches Phil as he puts the iron away and dips a towel in the water, which is nearly boiling now.

“Got enough reach with your good arm to clean yourself up?” Phil asks, hanging the towel to cool a little and poking up the fire.

“Probably,” Clint says, and yawns, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his forearm. “I'll try and save a corner for you.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, and picks a dry soup mix at random, dumping individual packets into the pot until it looks about right and stirring until the foam clears and the lumps disappear. It smells like some kind of oniony chicken thing, which suits Phil just fine. Clint strips naked with the lack of self-consciousness that comes from hanging around with werewolves. It's easy not to ogle him, though. He's had such a bad night that it would feel very tacky even if his wounds weren't so ugly. As might be expected from a wolfboy's cabin, there's an entire first aid closet. Phil disinfects the cauterized wounds because it's no good saving a person from contracting lycanthropy only for them to get tetanus instead, and wraps them up, grateful to have real bandage clips.

“And now daddy needs his medicine,” Clint says and Phil sighs.

“I guess you know what you can take on top of that liquor.”

“The liquor is why I only want one of the big Vicodins.”

Phil gets him the pill and a cup of water, and then goes back to the stove, stirring the soup some more and waiting for the dehydrated vegetables to soften as Clint bathes himself with the towel. Now it's a little harder not to gawk, since he's got some painkillers in his system and his bites are bandaged. Phil concentrates on producing actual food, finding a can of chicken and a handful of rice to throw into the pot.

“Your turn for the towel,” Clint says, and Phil glances back to see him holding it out with his injured arm, the good one holding the top blanket from the bed around his shoulders. Sure enough, one wet corner is still clean.

“...Thanks,” Phil says, and with nowhere else to go in this cold carefully peels off his layers. He hung his coat up on the way in, but he's starting to swelter in snow pants and long underwear and his down vest and his four pairs of socks and all the rest of it. He stops at the long underwear the last two pairs of socks, washing the blood and soot from his hands and face and the sweat from his chest and the back of his neck. He can feel Clint's gaze on him.


	4. Chapter 4

No one says much over dinner. Unlike most real canines, werewolves can eat all the onions and chocolate they want, so Phil just slops soup into three bowls and puts one on the floor. The wolf eyes it suspiciously, but relents when Clint clicks his tongue at her and says, “Come on, Natasha. Eat up, there's a good girl.” 

Phil smiles. “So that's her full name.”

“Yeah. She's my good girl,” Clint coos, and then gets to work snarfling down his own portion as fast as the wolf. Phil has used a lot less of his strength today and he's pretty hungry, himself. The exhaustion sets in as soon as the pot is empty, and Clint collapses on the bed, telling Phil to lie down, that Natasha can wash the dishes.

“After all, it's her fault I'm too bit up to do it,” he adds, and yawns so widely it makes his jaw pop. “Come on, the other side's free.”

Phil banks the fire and takes a few deep breaths. It has been way too long if the idea of platonically sharing a bed with some crazy man with a werewolf girlfriend is unnerving him this much, and he's glad his voice is steady when he says, “Thanks.”

“I'd still be putting irons on myself it not for you. If I wasn't dead, anyway.”

Natasha growls, and Phil chuckles. “I think your friend would've had something to say about that.”

Clint chuckles. “Yeah.” He scratches Natasha behind the ears, eyes full of affection. “My bestest girl. Yes. Yes you are.” She licks his hand and watches Phil with laser focus as he crawls into the bed next to Clint. He does his best to be nonthreatening and it must work, because she relaxes a bit and goes to lie down beside the threshold. The cabin is nearly dark once Clint blows out the lantern beside the bed, and Natasha's fur gleams dully in the red-gold light. Phil watches her through his lashes until he can't anymore, sliding into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that so often eludes him.

He wakes up to the smell of coffee, and for a moment is completely disoriented because he's so used to waking up alone. Then he remembers where he is and cracks one eye. There's a remarkably beautiful and completely naked woman standing at the stove, and he feels like a complete idiot for blushing at his time of life but he does. 

She probably smells the embarrassment and faint arousal on him, because she chuckles and says, “Good morning, Hunter.”

“I prefer Phil.”

“It's hard to remember new names when I hear them as a wolf, don't take it personally,” she says.

“Fair enough.”

“Thank you for looking after Clint. How do you like your coffee?”

“Black, please. Two sugars if we have any.”

“Brown okay?”

He shrugs. “Molasses is supposed to be good for you.” She chuckles and pours him a cup. He sits up and feels a bit dizzy to be presented with fresh coffee by a bare-breasted redhead. “Thank you,” he says, doing his level best not to gawk.

“You're welcome.” She pours two more mugs and opens a can of condensed milk, pouring a lavish portion into each one as Phil sips his own.

“It's good,” he says, which is the truth.

“Quality coffee is important to me.” She comes over to the bed with the two mugs and sits down beside Clint, setting his on the little side table and breathing in the steam from her own cup. Clint makes a low noise and nuzzles into the flawless skin of her hip. Phil swallows hard and feels incredibly stupid since he's bisexual and wasn't anywhere near this weird about sleeping with Clint. There's just something about women, though, even when he knows they're werewolves. Besides, it's not like the disgraces to hunting today think. The good or the evil of any werebeast comes from the human side.

“MmmmTasha?” Clint mumbles, kissing the skin near his mouth.

“We have coffee and company,” she says, amused and fond.

“S'right. Help, Mama, there's a Shield in my bed!”

“You're too silly,” she tells him gravely, like she's diagnosing him with a terminal illness.

“You love me for it,” he informs her, and sits up, reaching over her to grab the coffee, kissing her while he's there. Phil feels very in the way, but neither of them seem to mind. Clint settles back with his coffee and cuddles Natasha while he drinks it, and if Phil wasn't a Shield, he would have no idea that she was a werewolf. He has to look closely to see the wildness in her eyes, the particular shape of her teeth and the canine carriage of her head.

“So,” Clint says after most of his coffee, “you gonna tell us why you went all stupid-berserk?”

She sighs. “I can't remember now. It was something very deep down.”

“So we gotta go back and let you sniff around?”

“That would help, yes.”

Clint yawns, stretches, and winces. “Okay. We'll go after breakfast. And after daddy takes more medicine, _ow_.”


	5. Chapter 5

Breakfast is protein bars and eggs, and Natasha dresses for it, putting on one of Clint's undershirts, a huge green sweater, and a pair of black leggings. It's a cold morning, but Phil is adequately bundled for it once they set out. Well, he forgot his real mittens, but he can borrow a set to drive the four-wheeler while Clint sits with his hands in his pockets and Natasha runs alongside with werewolf speed and stamina. Rarely has Phil seen anyone use their abilities so freely in human form, and he tries not to show how fascinated he is.

Soon they're where they were last night, the distance a lot shorter by daylight and without Clint bleeding everywhere. They park the ATV and sit there listening to it click as it cools down. Natasha makes big, sweeping circles around the site of the battle, frequently dropping to all fours, and sticking her head under bushes and retracing her steps. She starts to move faster and faster, wild-eyed and alarmed.

“Tasha?” Clint asks, and just like last night she doesn't respond, starting to whine and paw at the earth with her hands before bolting around the clearing in another big circle. “Tasha!” Clint barks, and she finally skids to a halt beside the four-wheeler, shaking. Her eyes are huge and she comes to Clint, pressing her face into his midsection and whining like a scared dog in a thunderstorm. He talks to her softly and Phil tries not to hear, staring off into the snowy woods as Clint pets and gentles his companion. “Baby,” he says at last, “use your human words and tell me what's wrong.”

“It's him,” she whimpers, “It's James.”

Having come in late, Phil has to do what he can with context. Clint looks stricken, and Natasha looks frantic and sorrowful despite her whole-hearted attempt to kill the dark wolf the night before, so Phil has to assume that at one point, James was a good friend. It takes a lot to cause a falling out between amicable werewolves, and he goes over the possibilities in his mind as Clint walks around the clearing with Natasha, quietly comforting her as she sniffs at James's trail.

“You think it's the same c-the same group?” Clint asks her, with a glance over at Phil, who does his best not to sigh. That slip of the tongue probably means vampires, since a group of them is a cabal. Phil hates vampire cases. They're much more trouble than sitting up in a blind and waiting for a bad lone wolf.

“It has to be,” she says, sounding hollow and cold with her anger and despair. Clint puts his good arm around her shoulders and squeezes, eying Phil.

“As a Shield I'm bound to track my wolf. I can help you if you want.”

“And slide silver between his ribs?” Natasha asks, her voice syrupy-sweet and full of hate.

“No,” Phil says, suddenly feeling very old and very tired. “We are the Shield and not the Sword.” There's a long creed about defending the innocent, whatever their nature, but he doesn't feel like reciting it right now.

“How are you even real?” Clint asks him, and Phil laughs.

“I'm a museum piece, but I still work.”

Natasha stays behind to sniff out more of the trail as Phil and Clint go back to the cabin to outfit themselves properly. Phil counts his knives and tucks them away as Clint tells him about Natasha's past with the cabal known in whispers and nightmares as the Red Room. Vampires have many ways of operating in the human world, and one of the nastiest is using thralls to do their dirty work. The Red Room had moved in on a pup orphaned by the kind of hunters that make Phil wish there was another name for his calling, and had used her as their hound for a while.

“I'm not the real thing,” Clint says, grimacing as he hangs a quiver over his shoulder, “but I know that all that shit that goes bump in the night is real, so when people started talking about some scary-smart wild dog picking off their stock, I loaded up with silver and headed for the woods.”

Phil zips up his jacket. “And you found a sad lone wolf who was tired of the taste of human blood and had gone to ground.”

“Yeah. I did.”

Phil sighs. “I really do hate bad vampires.”

“You talk like there's another kind.”

“There is,” Phil says, “there just aren't very many of them.” He actually has a little heretical Christian text, listing the Virtuous Fallen, a collection of vampires renowned for kind and decent deeds instead of vile ones.

“I'll have to take your word for it,” Clint says, and gets onto the four-wheeler again. “You drive, I gotta save my arms.”

Phil does not say anything about how works of art must always be preserved, and he's kind of proud of himself. He just nods and climbs on in front of Clint, starting the vehicle up and going back to where they left Natasha.


	6. Chapter 6

It's a good thing that Phil had been expecting to spend days in the snowy autumn woods anyway. There's a reason Shields seldom travel light and never book hotels. James leads them in strange directions and over stone and up half-frozen creeks, but Natasha stays right on him and Clint and Phil are right behind her. Phil is too damn old to be sleeping on the dry ground under spruce trees and definitely too old to be watching Clint and Natasha the way he does. It's not just that they're gorgeous and only a little too young for him, it's that they're gorgeous _together_. They're kind to one another without being goopy, and their comfortable silences include him.

The trail remains a nightmare, never once straightening out, but Natasha is on it and nothing will lead her astray for long. Phil also eventually remembers that he has one of the dead boy's socks with him and not stashed in Maria's basement with his baggage, and Natasha can confirm that it was James who killed him. The presence of even one other werewolf was a huge surprise, but better safe than sorry. The knowledge makes Natasha curl up and whine for a while, keeping back the howling werewolves are pretty much compelled to do when their feelings overwhelm them. After a while Clint goes and wraps himself around her and Phil turns his back to them and pretends that roasting the rabbits Natasha brought them is the most fascinating thing in the world.

After about half an hour they join him, and the meat is just about ready. Natasha isn't powerful enough to shift without the moon, but her abilities are very strong in her human form, so sneaking up on a cottontail and snapping its neck is easy for her. There's something really sweet about Clint's pride in her. Too many exceptional women Phil has known have had envious, miserable men in their lives, 'intimidated' by their smarts or strength or even their mere beauty. Clint seems to just bask in it. He accepts the beauty and the beast, and most importantly, realizes just how thin that line can be in a woman like Natasha.

It takes three weeks in the woods before they find the Red Room's current quarters. Caves and culverts are often safer, but the Red Room have a penchant for elegance at the expense of a lot of other considerations. Still, this derelict manse is well hidden, one of the confections built by the lunatics and dreamers that have wandered these woods since at least the 1930s. This house is probably from the early sixties, one of several failed communes of neo-druids who wanted to talk to the trees. A girl Phil knows who actually can talk to trees says that most of them would rather be left alone, and certainly not bedizened with New Age symbols.

Now Natasha quivers with rage in the tree they're using as a hiding place. “They're here. They're here and I can smell that sickly sweet bullshit and I want them staked, Clint, I want them all staked.” Her voice is quiet and calm and unutterably cold. It seems to even give Clint the creeps, but he just pats her shoulder and makes the entirely reasonable point that the three of them are probably not going to succeed on their own, especially since Phil is loaded for werewolf and not vampire. Sure, silver overlaps, but they could use some faith pieces and sunlamps and stakes to finish the job in a way that a silver knife really can't.

At last she agrees not to strike now, and then it takes a lot more to get her to agree to let Clint be the one to keep tabs on James. “You've told me what his human form looks like,” he says, “and while I care about him as your friend, I'm not going to be overtaken with wolf instincts. Natasha, you were so overpowered you got me bit. I've never seen you so crazy.”

She whines, cringing a little like a scolded dog that knows full well that it deserves it. “I'm really sorry,” she says softly, and Clint hugs her. “I know, honey. I forgive you, but the point is, amazing as you are, you're a liability here. Go back with Phil, pool your contacts with his, and get us a goddamn army, okay?”

“Okay,” She says softly, and kisses him. “Stay warm,” she adds, gazing into his eyes. He promises that he will, and she adds something in Russian that leaves him looking pleasantly thunderstruck and very emotional before repacking things so that he has all the food. They kiss again and then Natasha departs, leaving Phil no option but to toss a, “Bye,” over his shoulder as he scrambles down after her. Their ride is a ways back, and even with Natasha running on ahead and riding it back to collect him, it's a long walk. He tries not to pant too obviously as he heaves himself onto the four-wheeler again, and gets going a while before he catches his breath. Natasha has very good self-control, but Phil knows how desperate a wolf gets when their packmate is in danger or captivity, let alone when the wolf is being mind-controlled into murder.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil doesn't sleep until they're back on the highway. Thankfully Natasha knows how to drive, and she conveys them safely back to Maria's house in such a short time that Phil is kind of glad that he wasn't awake to witness it. Maria, having run a safehouse for people like Phil and for clean, respectable monsters escaping persecution (and sympathetic humans in similar dire straits) for the last ten years, is not at all alarmed to have a strange werewolf under her roof and has already laid in a supply of ash stakes for Phil. She also has an enormous cheeseburger casserole ready for them, and Phil hugs her tightly there in the kitchen, because the rabbits had been thin on the ground toward the end of their trip.

“I try,” Maria says, sounding amused and patting Phil on his bald. “Now let go of me, you stink.”

“I think he has a sort of pleasant, earthy scent,” Natasha says, “but then again I can smell your garbage and you've barely started this bag.”

“Well, I'm glad only you can smell it, but to a human, he stinks. So do you, honestly, but I wasn't going to go there until I had to.”

Natasha laughs, and lets Maria lead them to the towels and then upstairs. It's large house and already had three bathrooms when Maria bought it. Now there are twice as many, added for the convenience of wildly different and sometimes antagonistic and territorial creatures. Right now there's a swan maiden living in the basement because her family kicked her out of the house when her true nature started to show itself too much for them to deny, and a yeti in the attic, waiting for his ride back to Tibet. At least the struggling young family of weretigers has finally found housing in a much more therianthrope-friendly neighborhood than the one that had driven them out, but several of the bedrooms are still taken up by some phoenix-born sisters fleeing arranged marriages and by a werehyena seeking acceptance into an American clan to avoid female circumcision by her paternal relatives in Somalia. There are also some locals: a merrow boy whose parents have turned home into a meth lab, a girl with siren blood whose stepfather isn't even trying to resist the call, and the merrow's puca friend, whose mother beats him and hasn't even seemed to notice his extended absence.

Glad as Phil is that all these lost souls have found Maria, and even after a hot shower and gorging himself on the casserole, he's still a little irked to be sharing a bedroom with Natasha. She's completely gorgeous and has the general lack of nudity taboo one sees in therianthropes and as always happens to Phil, being attracted to her boyfriend just makes her more attractive in some kind of diabolical life-ruining feedback loop. It's depressing. At least there are separate beds, and Phil wears a fresh undershirt and a pair of boxers as he crawls into the one further from the closet because it has a nightstand, and Phil claims it because he needs somewhere to put his phone after he calls Nick.

There's no answer because Nick is a jerk and screens his calls even when he recognizes the number, but Phil is used to his friend's iniquities. He settles in to wait, arms crossed behind his head so that resolutely staring at the ceiling isn't obvious when Natasha comes in wearing a towel around her neck and absolutely nothing else. She pads around the room, snuffling at the walls, and stops beside Phil's bed. If he turns his head he will be eye to eye with her auburn pubic hair, so he doesn't turn his head.

“Are you one of _those_ humans?” she asks, sounding faintly exasperated.

“...Probably?”

She chuckles. “You people are so funny about looking at what you want. You either won't do it at all, or can't look away.”

“The first camp is thought the more gentlemanly of the two,” Phil says, and she laughs again, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I appreciate that, but I wouldn't mind if you looked a little. Clint wouldn't, either.”

“Oh?”

She stretches out beside him and nuzzles into his neck, soft and sudden and so _close_. Even with Phil's poor sad human nose, the scent of her fills his head. “He wouldn't,” she murmurs, lips and eyelashes tickling his skin. “I've seen how you look at him, and I don't mind.”

Phil shudders, and his arms stop supporting his head and move to wrap around Natasha without any input from his brain. “You don't?”

“No. I miss having a pack-sized pack.”

Phil would protest that this is all so sudden, but werewolves are like that, particularly those born to it. They live by instinct and many of them get married after six weeks of courtship and actually end up happy together. He feels somewhere between scared and honored to have Natasha in his arms.

“I... uh. I move slower,” he says, holding her close, “but I like you both and I'm glad I'm not going to be a problem.”


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha growls when Phil's phone rings and she refuses to get up, so Phil has to take Nick's call with his arms full of werewolf and with about twenty-five percent of an erection. Still, it's good to hear from his old friend, and better still to hear that he'll be able to dig up a few other Shields still fit to work, and that he'll send Phil some blessed crucifixes. He can't come himself, being up to his ass in zombies, but he sends his love and tells Phil not to get juiced like a goddamn orange before he can see him again. Phil promises to do this best, and hangs up.

Natasha smiles up at him. “So you have some pack after all.”

“What, Maria doesn't count?”

Natasha shrugs. “You don't smell the same way about her.”

“Mmm. I guess I do keep her a little at arm's length. I've got enemies, after all.”

“Well. Clint and I have enemies, too.”

“And friends, I hope.”

“I can't call anyone until tomorrow,” she says, sighing. “I have to use the monster grapevine, since news of a howl would reach them.”

“Who's your contact for that kind of thing?” There are many types of creatures with their own ways of contacting each other, and most of those ways can be broadened to include other types.

“Lovely demon spawn lady I know,” she says. “I think you'll like her. But I have to burn a certain incense to summon her, and your friend is out.”

“Not enough sandalwood?”

“Or rose, but she doesn't even keep myrrh in the house, so I'd have to wait until someone would trade me some anyway.”

“Or sell,” Phil says. “I have money.”

“You people and your money,” she says, but also sounds relieved. “That's good, though. I don't have much to trade but labor, and that means time.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, and yawns. “Look, you can sleep here if you want, but don't expect much further conversation.”

“It's always warmer to sleep together,” Natasha says, and puts her leg over Phil's as he switches off the light. He's too old and too tired for things to get really awkward, and is dimly glad of that as he drifts off to sleep with Natasha's strength and softness all pressed up against him.

Phil wakes up with morning wood, which is embarrassing, but Natasha is already dressing in fresh clothes borrowed from Maria. “You can go back to sleep,” she says, “but I have to see a witch about some myrrh.” 

Phil just nods, watches all that loveliness vanish into clothing, and waits until she leaves to get up and jerk off in the shower. The hyena almost certainly knows, but at least the object of his fantasies isn't here. He washes thoroughly and heads down to the kitchen where one of the phoenixes immediately conscripts him to make pancakes. Phil doesn't really mind, glad to provide growing children with a quality breakfast.

Maria and Natasha show up barely in time to partake, and after Phil gets the dishes under control he spends the rest of the morning making more ash stakes. In every story Phil has ever heard about taking on a vampire cabal, the hunters either have enough stakes and live, or don't have enough and don't. Maria has gotten him a nice head start, but there are many more to make. It's weirdly homey, since he just sits there and whittles like someone's uncle on a porch, and the youngest phoenix comes to him with a math worksheet to ask if her answers are right and the hyena reads to him as part of improving her English.

The yeti doesn't show himself at all, and one of the household chores is taking a truly impressive amount of meat up to the attic and coming back with a few bone fragments. Once Phil has gotten enough stakes to feel all right taking a break, he goes up to the attic to look in on the yeti, since he's never seen one and Shields need to know everything about the unseen world that they possibly can.

Y'enzj is a good kid, and despite being shy he lets Phil come in and nibble a bit of the meat and stroke his arm. He doesn't speak a word of English, but they communicate fairly well. He's eight feet tall, covered in white fur, and has glowing red eyes and enormous fangs, but he's so obviously an awkward adolescent far from home that Phil finds himself brushing him and drawing pictures to tell him the story of how Maria got another vastly displaced monster home safely.

After doing what he can to comfort Y'enzj, Phil goes in search of Maria. The house is already perfumed with the incense Natasha is mixing, and Maria is in the kitchen, scrubbing her hands with lime juice and salt. “I don't know she can stand it,” Maria says, rinsing her hands at last. “The smell in that room is enough to knock you over.”

“A wolf will do a lot for a packmate in trouble,” Phil says, and Maria sighs.

“I know.”

On cue, Natasha goes blundering past them and into the nearest bathroom to vomit.


	9. Chapter 9

After helping Natasha clean herself up and getting her some ginger ale and fresh air, Phil has her call Father Malone about some holy water and finishes the incense himself, wearing two respirators and meeting Natasha in the yard so she can smell him and be sure it's right.

By the time they've gotten the holy water and aired out the house enough for anyone to tolerate the ritual, it's nearly time. Natasha's friend gets her demonic blood from a night-aligned sire, so rituals involving her are best done between sunset and midnight, ideally at eleven o'clock. There's a sigil to be drawn as well, and between moving everything out of the tiny storage room Natasha has been using and getting each line right, they're lighting the first cone of incense at half-past, which should work well enough.

There's a chant, but Phil doesn't know it, so he gets to sit out of the way and think about female bats. It seems a little abstract, but his focus either helps or fails to hinder, because at the crescendo of the chant, a humanoid figure appears over the sigil. She's floating in midair, and does have bat wings. Her skin is a deep, beautiful brown, and her hair is stark white, falling down her back in countless small braids. Her eyes are white too, but Phil knows that she can see. She smiles, and Natasha smiles back.

“Hi, Nocturne. You look good, did I pull you away from anything too important?”

Nocturne makes a negligent, see-sawing gesture with one elegant hand.

“Well, you should be able to get right back to it, I just need you to tell Bruce that I'm calling in that favor and couldn't send a howl because the enemy is listening.”

Nocturne nods, and then points to Phil, tilting her head quizzically.

“That's Phil. He's a real Shield. If we live, you'll probably see more of him.”

Phil blushes, and Nocturne smiles again, reaching out to Natasha. She steps into the circle and hugs her friend tightly. “I got sick making the incense,” she says, “but it's good to see you again.”

Nocturne kisses her forehead, and vanishes. Natasha smiles. “Sweet girl. She cured me of the residual queasiness and the headache just now.”

“I've never spent much time around demonic types,” Phil says, standing and helping Natasha clean up. “You friend is a lovely example, though.”

“Charmer. I'll tell her you said that.”

“Merciless wolf,” he says, and she just laughs.

Phil's fellow Shields arrive before Bruce, but Natasha says that she expects him to be far away. “He might not even be in the country,” she tells Melinda over coffee on her second day, “but he'll come. He owes me.”

“Save his life?” Melinda asks, topping her cup off and handing the pot to Bobbi.

“That was the least of it,” Natasha says, and Phil wonders about the full story.

Three days later Bruce arrives as they're putting the finishing touches on their arsenal. Phil is trimming a steak when the hyena shrieks and growls loud enough for everyone to hear. He leaps up and looks in all directions for intruders, but there's nothing but a single, polite press of the doorbell.

“You bring bitten one here?” she snarls when Natasha comes running, and Natasha snarls right back, perfect teeth bared inches from the girl's face even though she has to stand on tiptoe to do it.

“I bring my wolf,” she growls, and then Maria proves that she's a lot braver than most hunters by getting between them. Phil goes to open the door, since forewarned is forearmed and he can deal with a bitten wolf. Many of them are really very gentle people, which just makes it worse. He looks through the peephole and sees two men, so he gets a silver knife out of his sleeve and keeps the chain on when he opens the door.

“One of you was called,” he says, eyeing both of them, because if either one is human, he'll eat his shield.

“I'm Bruce,” the closer one says. And he does look haggard and resigned, the way bitten wolves so often do. He also looks like a professor after about a year of homelessness while trying to maintain standards. His companion is fabulously arrayed in a bright red three-piece suit and the kind of sunglasses that cost more than some people's computers, and something about him almost shimmers. Shoulder-length hair and a neat Van Dyke only add to his bizarre glamour-sleaze, and Phil gets the sinking feeling that the silver wouldn't help anyway. “This is Tony,” Bruce says. “Tony cannot be explained and I hesitate to try.”

“Don't prejudice the nice man against me, honeypie,” Tony coos, kissing Bruce's cheek and breezing past Phil and into the house, putting his sunglasses on top of his head to reveal wide, silver eyes and a pair of pointed ears when his long hair is pushed off of them by the ear-pieces. “I like this house,” he says, “it stinks like magic and female incense.”

Bruce sighs, following Tony in, and Phil shuts the door behind him. “Well, we did have to burn some to call the female demon who told you to come here.”

“Our lovely Nocturne,” Tony says with a dreamy, lascivious sigh, and Bruce rolls his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

The thing about bitten wolves is that while they take on most of the negative folkloric effects of lycanthropy, such as memory lapses, rages, and much less control over their abilities, they also shift into much larger and stronger creatures. For an all-out assault on vampires, there is almost nothing better, because bitten wolves are also more difficult for vampires to control, their inner beasts so much angrier.

Like most bitten wolves, Bruce hates using his abilities, but he's willing to do it for Natasha. Reading between the lines, Phil is pretty sure that in addition to saving Bruce's life, she saved him from himself. He moves like he's afraid he'll break the world, and tries to take up as little space as possible, sitting in a corner of the kitchen and holding his glass of water in both careful hands while Tony flutters around hitting on everyone. On a human it would make Phil bristle because of how young the kids are, but with a fairy it's only to be expected and for now at least, probably harmless. He also seems to sense that the siren girl can't deal with this kind of thing and just shakes her hand and asks after her in a kindly and paternal sort of way. He speaks perfect Chinese to the Phoenixes and May, as well as perfect Somali to the hyena and he really should be obnoxious, but of course Phil likes him. It's an actual magical effect and probably isn't even on purpose.

Natasha, bless her heart, is mostly unimpressed. “Yes,” she tells him when he turns that silver gaze her way, “you look and smell very nice. Now sit down, I need to talk to Bruce.”

Maria shoos the kids away and Phil gets back to slicing the fat off of beef because the merrow boy hates it and Y'enzj needs more than his numerically fair share. Natasha explains the situation to Bruce and lets Tony pout at not being the center of attention. He at least does so quietly, and actually listens to all of the major points before bouncing up and coming to look over Phil's shoulder at his work.

“You're pretty good at that,” he says, and Phil chuckles, not looking up because he likes his fingers where they are.

“Thanks.”

“Iron is so interesting,” Tony says, sighing. “Playing games with gold is all well and good, but there's something about iron...”

“I guess we all just have to live with our limitations.”

Tony isn't actually listening, and Phil isn't surprised by that. “Maybe if I made some really good gauntlets...”

“Tony?” Phil tries, and like most fairies, he responds to his name.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing with Bruce, anyway? Not that I would in any way be ungrateful for fairy favor or anything like that. Just so we're clear.”

Tony laughs. “Such a well-mannered mortal.” He kisses Phil's cheek and it feels like the spot is sparkling or something, a cool and electric feeling very unlike a human kiss. “And I'm with Bruce because he's fun. And needs a little fairy favor in his life. Also this quest seems like it's the right thing to do or whatever. I let Bruce keep track of that.”

“Probably for the best,” Phil says.

After Phil's hands are clean and everything has been arranged under the broiler he's able to join the others at the table where Natasha is drawing a map for Bruce, Bobbi, and May. Phil pays close attention to the battle plan while Maria takes over the cooking and offers questions and comments as she sears a big, gristly hunk of beef to add to Y'enzj's pile. It's the siren girl's turn to bring it up, and she lingers in the doorway, looking around with her bright, nervous, birdlike eyes. Tony looks up and says something to her in a language that sounds like the sea and like a bell, and she smiles and comes in. 

She really is a beautiful kid, as might be expected, and if she were fully human Phil would feel like a monster for the sort of tidal pull inside him. As it is he just nods to her, part of the important work of proving that human males are capable of self-control, and that her automatic powers of fascination won't always translate into abuse. She smiles shyly at him as if she's reading his thoughts, and then picks up the big platter of meat and heads up to Y'enzj, who is immune to her powers.

“Poor kid,” Tony says when she's out of earshot, silver eyes full of sympathy. It makes him look alien and ancient and more genuinely loveable than all his glamour.

Natasha nods. “Maria is doing good work here. Hopefully James will be part of it.”

There really isn't much else to say. Their plan depends on secrecy, speed, and Clint's observations, so they load Maria's van that night to leave first thing in the morning. She has two, so the residents of the house will be able to leave in a group if they have to, a specter that hangs over every supernatural safehouse. She comes out to see them off as the sun is just thinking about rising, and hugs Phil tightly, reminding him that she's stuck with Nick's temper if he doesn't come back.

“I'll do my best,” is what Phil says. It's what he always says.


	11. Chapter 11

The ride back up to the forest is full of gallows humor and obsessive gear checks, as such rides always are. It says a lot about Phil's life that this feels so homey. He and May have done more jobs together than he can easily count, and he has known Bobbi for ten years. He can't be sure about this Skye kid, but every Shield has to be blooded sometime. She seems steady, anyway; and her hands are deft and sure as she makes sure of the draw on her hidden silver knives, and that she can reach each of her holy hand grenades, which is what May had dubbed Phil's light bulbs full of holy water a lifetime ago. They're fragile, but still a pretty good delivery system. They're cheap, too, which is always important in this fallen age.

Natasha, Tony, and Bruce have no way to understand just how much difference gear makes for the human hunter, all their power carried inside their own skins. Phil envies them that physical and financial security, but he's grateful to have no obvious folkloric weaknesses. He's also grateful that Clint taught Natasha to drive. Bruce never learned, and Tony has to be reminded that the thing they're riding in is technically a car despite being called a van, so neither of them is any help. Skye is an aged-out foster kid that no one bothered to teach, and May isn't done fixing that. This icy road is no place for a lesson, anyway, and so Skye is relegated to taking notes and making diagrams on her laptop.

Of course, there's only so much they can do without talking to Clint, and they end up talking in circles. Of course they'll attack in the morning, when vampires are weakest, and of course everyone will be wielding blessed silver, and they know there can't be more than twenty altogether, thanks to Natasha's initial report and Clint's subsequent ones. Natasha hasn't called him, not wanting the ringing or vibration to give him away, but he has reported in a few times, just to let them know he's alive and still watching. James has been patrolling the woods around the house and some nearby caves that almost certainly connect with the cellar, and watching him has helped Clint to get some idea of the size and shape of the cave system and some of the better approaches. Still, there's only so much anyone can know about a vampire lair from outside.

They get more argumentative as breakfast recedes further and further into the past, and Sky finally shuts her computer. “I think the grownups are getting a little cranky,” she sing-songs, sounding more than a little irritable herself.

“Ooh, is it mortal food time?” Tony has been passed out with his head in Bruce's lap for most of the journey, but springs up so quickly now that it's a little alarming.

“Yes,” Bobbi says, signaling and sliding to the right in a way that reminds Phil of Clint, “it is.” There's some kind of diner by the next off-ramp, and Tony chatters about how Bruce is boring and lame and won't let Tony use fairy gold to feed them, so they live on a lot of oatmeal and dried fruit and wild game.

“I mean, venison is fucking awesome,” Tony says, “but I've had like, less than a dozen different mortal foods since 1800, and that's just lame.”

Bruce lets out a long suffering sigh, hanging onto the grip handle as Bobbi makes the tight turn from the ramp to the parking lot. “Tony, I don't want some hardworking waitress having to pay for our meal because the cash turned to leaves after we left. This is something that human beings refer to as a 'dick move.'”

“Y'know, considering how much fun I've had with moving penises, I still don't full grasp why that's a bad thing.”

Skye is still laughing after they've parked and are headed inside, but Tony actually applies himself and exerts enough glamour to turn his eyes grey and his suit brown and to make his ears look rounded. Phil can see their true shape out of the corner of his eye, but he has training in these things.

“That is so cool,” Bobbi tells him. “You know, all this time and I've never met one of you guys before.”

“A lot of us gave up on you around the Industrial Revolution,” he says, “but I stuck it out. I knew that eventually you'd start covering up all that raw iron and that things would get better.”

They're still an oddly-assorted group, but without visible weaponry and with Tony toned down, they don't turn many heads. And thankfully, they're safely tucked into a booth before Tony gets a look at the menu. Bruce has the foresight to make his friend take the inside seat, so no one can see what appears to be a grown man who has no idea what French fries are and a small child's delighted curiosity to try them. He's also an enormous help in getting Bruce to eat as much as he needs, gleefully insisting that he take full advantage of the largess Phil and May are offering. Bruce isn't emaciated, but there's a lean and hungry look to him, and he demolishes his second order.


	12. Chapter 12

It's late afternoon by the time they reach the woods again, and Natasha takes the wheel from Phil to inch the van up the narrow, winding road to their nearest safe staging point. She parks under some spreading trees to keep the worst of the snow off, and everyone bundles up and makes one last check before slogging into the woods. Phil tries not to hover over Skye too much. He has seen a lot of people die in his time, and the younger they are, the harder it is.

While most of the group trudges along at human speeds, Natasha lopes on ahead like the wolf she is. Bruce watches her with a weird, sad, longing look on his face. The tension doesn't break when she comes back and gestures for him to come with her, but he follows the order, and they vanish ahead into the trees while Tony sulks. 

Phil rolls his eyes. “Just be grateful you don't have to walk like a real person.” Tony is of course daintily walking on top of the spots of snow and tangled underbrush that are trying to trip the rest of them up.

“Silly real people,” Tony says fondly, and the going is suddenly easier. The really unnerving thing about fairy magic is how totally inevitable and right it feels while it's happening. Skye doesn't actually seem to notice it, and Bobbi barely does. May and Phil share a look, and silently agree not to point it out. Beyond metaphysically interfering, it might irritate Tony. Even the best of the fair folk are capricious.

Phil has thought about good bivouac spots, and of course May can always find the best ones. She just steered them to the dry ground under a large but still squat spruce tree. It's short enough to be unnoticeable on the forest skyline while offering a very wide radius. Very wide is still a small area for so many adults, but they'll manage. Tony mutters about silk pavilions with silver pillars, but admits that using enough power to make such a thing inconspicuous would be extremely conspicuous. He suddenly beams, joyfully bounding out into the snow just as May reaches for her gun.

“It's all right,” Phil says, and May moves her hand away again.

“Fucking fairy favor,” she mutters, and Bruce pokes his head in to tell them that Natasha and Clint are coming for his debriefing. He then lets out a resigned sigh as Tony hugs him tightly, nuzzling into his shoulder. It looks very odd, since of course cold weather gear is for real people, and Tony is wearing the same suit as ever.

A moment later Natasha comes up with that same tireless wolf-lope, even with Clint on her back. It's odd to see and also very cute, because he obviously trusts her completely with his weight. He grins like he's really happy to see Phil, and that should not affect him the way it does.

“Hey,” Clint says when Natasha stops and lets him drop onto his feet. He kisses her cheek and then comes forward to grip Phil's shoulder. “I hear you brought friends.”

“I did,” he says, and introduces May and Skye since he already knows Bruce, and by extension, Tony. Clint greets both of them with an easy handshake, but when he and Bobbi get a good look at each other they stop and stare so long that Natasha starts growling low in her throat like she doesn't even know she's doing it. “Stop that,” Clint says without looking away. Natasha stops. “So. How have you been?”

“Learning to hunt monsters. Been dancing with wolves this whole time?”

“Hell no, I had to get away from fuckin' Barney first, you remember that asshole.”

She grins, then. “Awesome. Will it be weird if we hug?”

“I think that's what exes who don't hate each other do. Like, the no homo kind.”

“Fine by me,” she says, still smiling, and hugs him. It does meet bro code as Phil has seen it, and Natasha acts her age about everyone crowding in under the tree together. She snuggles in tight against Clint's side while he speaks, but that's just a wolf thing. Clint tells them all about the view from his high nest, and about the camera he left there.

“There's a huge boar grizzly in the neighborhood,” he says, “but he seems pretty mellow, just wandering around and eating cranberries, that kind of thing. He'll be more likely to run from the noise when we go in than anything else.” He goes on to inform them that there are two humans on daylight guard, along with poor James, who is just as enchanted in human form.

He doesn't have much on the layout of the cave system they're using, but has marked likely points of egress on a map for Tony and the wolves to check, since they're faster and their combined sensory array is ridiculously receptive. He has much more on the house, and they take their time about studying it. Since they're dealing with vampires, it's far too late in the day to make any kind of move now. Natasha and Clint were actually cutting it close to arrive this near true dark, and everyone packs in under the tree.


	13. Chapter 13

Bobbi takes the first watch of the night, and she has Skye stand it with her as a learning experience. Tony's suit turns into an enormous fur coat, and he wraps it around Bruce from behind, cuddling close to him in the space between two of the biggest roots. Phil smiles, and settles to lie back to back with May, which is how they always sleep on the job. Clint lies down beside him and then laughs softly as Natasha pushes him backward into Phil's arms.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all.

“It's okay,” Phil says, wrapping his arms around him. Natasha snuggles into Clint's chest, making a contented little noise. Phil really has no choice but to cuddle him, and hopes that how much he's enjoying it isn't obvious to anyone but Natasha. He dozes off and is still holding Clint when May prods him awake for his and Tony's watch. He yawns and tries not to groan, hoping Tony isn't too fucking lively. Clint makes a little complaining noise when Phil lets go of him, and he shivers, watching as Natasha settles him down again, holding him tightly.

Glancing over at Tony and Bruce, he sees Tony slithering out of the fur coat. His glamour is the lowest Phil has seen it so far, his naked skin glowing a soft white, the barest suggestion of wings visible behind him. He kneels beside Bruce, carefully tucking the coat in around him before kissing his forehead and standing up, looking ancient and alien as he gazes down at his beloved. The word comes into Phil's mind instead of 'friend,' so strongly that he's pretty sure Tony put it there. They duck out into the starlight and Phil shivers as the cold slaps him across the face. Tony just sighs and opens his arms skyward, basking in the faint, silvery light.

Phil chuckles, and finds a good vantage point. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much,” Tony says, fluttering those phantom wings and making a graceful and impossible jump up into a tree. “And there's nothing around here now.”

“Good to know,” Phil says, getting settled in. He's surprised at how quiet and still Tony manages to be, just soaking up the starlight and watching in every direction. He's very beautiful, in that fairy way that dazzles and shimmers, and Phil wonders again where the hell he and Bruce even met.

“I really do like it here,” Tony says, his voice softer than Phil has ever heard it. “I'm supposed to be in exile, but I don't know if I'll ever go back, now that the iron is covered up.”

“And as long as you have good company,” Phil says, and Tony laughs.

“Bruce is a lot of fun,” he says. “Not as much as he could be, poor baby, but still.” He sounds fond and embarrassed and like he's trying very hard not to get too emotional, determinedly staring up at the sky.

“Where did you meet him?” Phil asks, soft, in deference to Tony's feelings.

He chuckles. “I found him at a bus stop in the rain, like the lost puppy he is.” He looks down at Phil again. “I had no idea it was so hard to get a man to accept food. Followed him around for days.” He sighs. “Apparently that's stalking? But I wasn't planning to eat him, so I'm not sure that's fair...”

“It is stalking,” Phil says, “but you're a fairy, we can't expect you to keep up with us kids and our slang.”

“Anyway, he tried to frighten me off by getting all wolfy at me, but I just thought it was cute. And then he admitted defeat and let me give him a sandwich and we've been together since.”

“...At least it seems to be working out,” is all Phil can think to say, and Tony laughs, the sound sparkling and inhuman.

“He's my sweet boy,” he says, “and I'll stay with him as long as he lets me.”

“Good luck to it,” Phil says, and they lapse into silence for the rest of their shift, watching the stars move toward dawn. They don't see so much as a single bat, and Phil is glad to report this lack of event to May when he wakes her for her watch. She yawns and heads out with Natasha as Phil settles into place beside Clint again, nestling into the warm spot Natasha has left behind.

“Hey,” Clint murmurs, reaching back and taking Phil's arm, wrapping it around his own waist as if they do this all the time.

“Hey,” Phil answers, settling into place as Bobbi shifts to be back to back with him and Tony snuggles into the fur coat with Bruce again, making a happy little cooing noise. Phil smiles, not actually nuzzling into Clint's hair even though it's tickling his nose. Phil has never been a big, strapping type, but Clint is small enough to fit very nicely into his arms. He tries not to cuddle Clint too obviously, but when Natasha shakes them awake in the first, faintest light of dawn, Phil finds himself wrapped around Clint and blushes. Natasha just grins at him and kisses Clint awake.


	14. Chapter 14

Phil hasn't gone up against vampires in a long time, but it's like riding a bike. Creeping around in the pale light of earliest dawn with a blessed cross around his neck and May nearby takes him right back to his days as a trainee. He sends up a little prayer to whatever there is that everyone will survive. Clint is back up his tree, the better to snipe from, and Natasha and Bruce are lurking at the rear exits with Bobbi while Tony and the remaining humans make up the frontal assault. Tony is of course sulking at having to be separated from Bruce, but he hasn't given into fae caprice and left altogether, so they can probably count on him being a real help.

Phil glances over at Clint's nest, unsurprised to see no sign of him. His quiver is full of silver-tipped arrows, and two regular steel ones treated with enough wolfsbane to knock James out if he can get a clear shot at him. Phil is just glad that Clint won't be bitten unless they _really_ fuck up, since the poor guy is still healing from last time.

Once the sun is actually up, they move, creeping through the undergrowth with Tony's assistance. The house looks deserted, but Phil knows better. They reach the porch on the east side without being detected, but there's only so much that even fairy favor can do against a werewolf's senses. James growls inside and Tony just has time to say that he'll take care of it before the door bursts open, James snarling in that way that always seems too canine for a human face. His vacant eyes are terrible to see, but he plunges past them, following Tony, who's skimming along just above the ground and making puppy-coaxing noises at him as he draws him out and into Clint's sights.

The next few minutes are a flurry of human-on-human violence. These two guardians are tough, but badly outnumbered and any of their masters who can stay awake past dawn won't dare to leave the inner rooms. Even boarded up, the east-facing windows are letting in lances of blazing sunlight, and it's more than enough for Phil to see one of them flicking a knife out of his sleeve to stab May in the back as she looks over to make sure that Skye is all right. It's the same kind of thing that will probably get Phil killed someday, but on this particular morning his aim is true. A shot to the shoulder drops one as Skye does something complicated and brutal to the other's arm, Bobbi helping her take him to the floor.

There are Shield rules about the killing of humans, and on a more pragmatic level, it keeps the criminal charges down. So as May zip ties their adversaries for later, Phil makes sure that his victim won't bleed out. They're doing the usual thing of cursing and spitting and predicting a gory defeat at the hands of their glorious masters, and to Phil it's so much white noise. The kind of humans who willingly assist a cabal like this are always fanatical vampire supremacists, with a significant overlap of natural scumfucks who just needed scope for their talents. It's the creepy little giggle that gives him pause. He looks at May and can see her thinking it, too. There are many different creatures in the world, and some of them have blood that works a little like vampire steroids.

“Possible enhancement,” May tells Skye, and the poor kid goes pale. She just nods, though, as heartbreakingly brave as most young Shields. Once they're sure the humans will stay put, they move forward into the house. There are many doors and the rooms wind around each other in tricky ways.

The Red Room hasn't come this far by being foolish, and even rattled and woken up after dawn, three of them lunge out of a back bedroom, fangs out and eyes glowing as brightly as the crosses Phil and the others are wearing. Vampires are often beautiful, but desperate and bloodthirsty ones look like the monsters they are. Sure enough, they're faster and stronger and their nails have turned into vicious claws. The closest to this Phil has ever seen is when vampires load up on the blood of humans with fae heritage, and he's relieved to find his current opponents not quite _that_ fast. As it is they get in several good swipes and everyone is bleeding by the time Skye finally pulls out her misaimed stake out of the last one's neck and slams it through his heart, turning him to the usual neat pile of silver-grey dust.

In the silence afterward, they make sure they're not losing too much blood and then keep moving. May is in the best shape, so she ranges ahead to find the cellar door. For obvious reasons, vampires love basements. Phil holds the door open so May and Skye can creep down and switch on the lights. There are eleven coffins lined up on the floor, and every single one is empty. Older and more powerful vampires tend to be early risers, so Phil isn't surprised, but a sitting duck or two would have been nice.


	15. Chapter 15

May quickly finds the tunnel that corresponds to the two exits Clint had noted on the ridge to the immediate southwest of the house, and then has to dive out of the way of another vampire, who shrieks in rage and whips around to target her again, almost too fast to see. She catches May's side, but her talons barely make contact so Phil can hope that the damage is all cosmetic as he tries to line up a shot with an arm that's still bleeding a little. He barely clips her and then Skye is in his line of sight and then what Phil had assumed was a closet door is blasts off its hinges and slams the vampire into the opposite wall. Skye runs up and stakes her while she's still dazed.

As the dust settles, they converge on the door, peering in to see a large-framed and emaciated man in a cage. He's wearing some kind of robe and his black hair hangs in his face, making his skin look impossibly white. In another cage beside him are two sleeping children, about the age of the boy whose murder brought Phil into the woods in the first place. They're pale and breathing very slowly, but seem generally unharmed.

“Don't worry about the little darlings,” the man drawls, “They're nowhere near drained yet.”

“You stink like magic,” Skye tells him, and he rolls his eyes, running an elegant hand through that lank hair.

“Of course I do, dear,” he says. “Now, get your mommy and daddy to get me the fuck out of this cage.”

“Only we get to do that to our pledges,” Phil tells him, still studying the kids. It's a relief to see that shooting the lock off of their cage wakes the children up, even if they are still pretty dopey. May gets the other prisoner out the same way while Skye sprays the tunnels with holy water to flush out anyone else who might be lurking. That done, they head back upstairs with their new friends, May carrying one kid and Phil the other. They've gone back to sleep, but knowing that consciousness is an option cheers Phil up. Since Skye has her hands free, she's the one to call Clint. Phil is glad to see that she keeps her eyes on her surroundings and one hand on a stake.

Clint answers, but they don't get a chance to hear his situation report because suddenly a bear. Everyone always forgets how fast they really are. One moment there's just James under the tree, resting on an actual bed that will certainly turn to leaves later, and then there's a gigantic grizzly thundering up to them. No one has time to react, and it's just as well because the man from the basement greets the sight with an exasperated look and a cry of, “What are you doing here, you oaf?”

The bear grumbles, putting a heavy paw on his shoulder and licking his face before bounding away again, loping up and around the house. “Hey, Clint?” Skye squeaks into the phone, “is he trying to help, or do we have to kill him?”

The man from the basement rolls his eyes, scrubbing slobber off of his face with one sleeve. “He's my stupid brother, and he's on your side.”

“Mellow, berry-eating bear is no longer mellow,” Clint reports, “and it looks like we're down to our last two bloodsuckers. One's getting a nice tan, and the other—wow. Bruce is like a terrier with a goddamn rat. Okay, Tasha put hers out of his misery and that's all seven that were out here accounted for.”

“We took down four in the house,” Skye tells him. “Found two kids and some kind of bear-loving weirdo in the basement.”

The bear-loving weirdo snorts, looking more amused than angry. “He's my brother and I'm adopted so no, the stupidity is not a shared trait. Now call the police or whatever it is you people do so we can return these brats to grateful parents and find me some real clothes.”

That is the plan, but first they have to tuck the kids in beside James and go up the hill to help the others count dust piles. Only after all their kills are confirmed does Natasha run down to see James and Clint, while Bruce finally allows Tony to flutter down from his perch in a nearby tree to land on his back and cling like a child, nuzzling his hair and telling him what a good job he did killing things.

“You weren't so bad yourself,” Bruce says, cleaning his glasses and putting them back on, sounding amused in a complicated and probably self-loathing way.

Bobbi has her hand to new wound on one hip, but it looks pretty shallow. The bear snuffles at it, and she watches him nervously. “So, uh, he's not a regular bear, right?”

“No,” the man from the basement says, hauling himself up the hill. For all his talk, he's very weak, and the bear goes to him immediately to lick his face again. “Ugh,” he says, shoving the bear away and wiping his face, “you are so fucking horrible, Thor.” He smiles faintly. “But it is good to see you.”


	16. Chapter 16

Thor proves invaluable, since Tony's help with the underbrush doesn't mean much to the poor exhausted prisoners, who still need to ride bearback to make any kind of time. With at least this branch of the Red Room turned to dust the group can just slog all the way back to the van, piling inside and turning the heat up as high as it will go, everyone who traveled on foot wet with snow. Thor's brother (introduced as Loki when someone finally remembers to ask) has caught a few splats from overhanging branches, but the kids are dry. With both of them and James still pretty much out for the count, Phil helps Clint and Natasha get the back seats flattened down so she can make a nest of sleeping bags for the kids and then another for James, wrapping around him and holding him tightly. Bruce joins them for a while in wolfy communion, Clint curled around Natasha from behind.

Thor is still a bear, lurking outside, and while Bobbi helps Phil and May patch themselves up, Loki stands in the snow and talks to him in what Phil is pretty sure is Aesir. It's a pretty surreal thing to look at as Phil settles himself into their improvised operating room. There are actual sutures in the van, if no proper anesthetic, and Phil takes a couple of enormous Vicodin and a swig of some awful rotgut from the flask Clint passes up from the back before biting onto one of his gloves and trying not to complain too much as Bobbi stitches the worst claw damage. Skye looks pretty freaked out, but she's a good O.R. nurse, handing Bobbi what she needs when she needs it. Tony is fascinated, and Bobbi ends up giving him a little class in wound care.

“I need to know in case some asshole hits Bruce with silver,” he says, glancing at the wolfpile in the back.

Bobbi chuckles. “Fairy favor, indeed.”

Skye is mostly unscathed, so after she has her few scratches disinfected, she calls ahead to Maria to let her know that they're coming back with James and two friendly strangers. She shows the kind of timing that will make her an excellent Shield by ending the call right before Phil makes a noise that is very loud through the glove in his mouth, kicking one foot despite his best efforts not to.

“Sorry,” Bobbi says, avoiding the foot, “but the worst is over, now.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, and when she's done he thanks her again and crawls into the front seat because it's his favorite and he's had a long day and it's barely three in the afternoon yet. The drugs roll over him then, and he dozes as Bobbi takes care of May and then herself, explaining everything to Tony as she goes. In some hazy snatch of time Clint climbs into the driver's seat. There's a little prickling of power when Thor changes, but it's Clint's presence that makes Phil sit up and take notice in time to see the shift from a pale-coated grizzly to a huge blonde man in a fur coat over nothing. He crawls into the back, beaming at everyone.

“Hi,” Phil says, waving with his good arm as Loki climbs in after Thor.

“Everyone,” Loki says, “this is Thor when he's not a bear.”

May takes care of the rest of the introductions, and Skye contacts the police as Clint heads for the main road.

Not even Bruce objects to Tony bringing the children into the police station on a wave of glamour that keeps anyone from thinking to question him or his ability to carry both of them. He comes outside looking happy and depressed at the same time, and when they open the door he crawls directly into Bruce's lap and curls up as Bruce lets out a long-suffering sigh and strokes his hair. Clint pulls out of the parking lot as Tony mumbles into the front of Bruce's shirt, clinging to him.

“Family stuff can be really tough for changelings,” Bruce says quietly, and obeys Tony's barely audible demand for 'more hug.'

“Aw, Tony,” Phil says, twisting around in his seat to pat Tony's shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

Tony makes a soft noise of half-comforted misery, and Phil helps pet him until the reach starts to hurt his arm. He leaves the job to Bruce, then, and dozes off as Clint drives into the early winter sunset. He wakes up alone in a truck stop parking lot, and sits up so fast it makes all his wounds hurt.

“Easy,” Clint says, opening the driver side door. “Tony has glamoured Loki and Thor into respectability and everyone is having horrible diner food. Thought you might want this,” he adds, handing Phil a white to-go box and climbing in with two cups to match. Phil had been too exhausted to think about food before, and now he devours the club sandwich and fries Clint has brought him. It's all fairly greasy and cheap, but that's nothing he's going to complain about right now. As he devours the last few mouthfuls he remembers that Clint is there and cringes, but when he looks over Clint is giving him a fond smile. “It's kinda cute to see you eating like Tasha,” he says, and Phil can feel himself blush.


	17. Chapter 17

Phil takes a shift driving that night, but he's dozing in the back with James when they pull up to Maria's house. James hasn't woken up once, but Natasha says that that's normal, that he's probably having his first sound sleep in a long time; with her scent and that of her mate and of several friendly humans and a wolf under her protection all around him. Bruce and Tony carry him into the house under cover of darkness, and Phil finds himself tagging along.

Maria, bless her heart, has made arrangements. The werehyena's relatives have come to collect her in their absence, and with some shuffling of the phoenix girls the largest bedroom is now free for them. Maria has already hauled out of all of the furniture and brought in dozens of blankets. Natasha hugs her when she sees it, and she starts to make an enormous nest, directing Bruce and Clint as they help her. Maria leads Skye, May, Bobbi, Thor, and Loki off somewhere else, and Phil is too tired to do anything except crawl into the blanket nest and collapse. All six of them stack up like measuring spoons, with Bruce in James's arms and Tony tucked up to Bruce's chest while Natasha wraps herself around James's back and Clint snuggles up to her and Phil snuggles up to Clint, trying not to be too obviously pleased to be there.

When Phil is reasonably sure that he's safe, he sleeps like the dead, which is why he doesn't wake up until James starts howling. It's a high, desolate sound, with the unbearable, heartbreaking note of a sad puppy's crying. Phil's chest is tight before he's even fully awake, and he opens his eyes to see Natasha licking at James's face, her own miserable little whimpers lost in his noise. It's so sad that Natasha's nudity barely registers. Clint is just sitting up in the nest, and it sucks that he's shirtless and mostly healed up and Natasha is naked and licking a hot guy and that Phil can't enjoy any of it.

“James, please,” Natasha says, and he just howls louder.

“That's not my name,” he manages to gasp, falling to his knees on the hard floor and apparently not even noticing. Clint takes Phil's hand, and Phil squeezes it, feeling like he should be trying to comfort _someone_ as James clutches his head and howls even louder than before. Natasha sighs, kneeling in front of him and putting her hands over his, gently pressing on his head. Like most distraught wolves, James is calmed by someone taking charge of him.

“Tell me your real name.”

“H-he calls me Bucky,” Bucky says, sniffling, “so that's my name.”

Natasha nuzzles Bucky and licks him some before leading him back into the nest and sending Clint to go fetch something very human for them to eat. Bucky sits there, shivering but quiet now. He looks over at Phil and cocks his head in a canine question.

“That's Phil,” Natasha says, fluffing up the blankets and cuddling Bucky. “He's a real Shield and he helped me free you.”

“The kids,” Bucky whispers, voice hoarse and desperately urgent.

“We got them out, too. They're home now.”

“I didn't kill the boy,” Bucky whimpers, starting to cry again. “They made me bite him when he was dead and they made me leave him but I didn't kill him.”

“Good boy,” Natasha says hugging him tightly, “such a good boy. No one blames you.”

“No,” Phil says when she glances over at him, “no one blames you. I'm happy to see you here with a packmate.” When Natasha gestures, he comes over and gives Bucky a hug to go with hers. He's a big guy, and even underfed and dirty is a lovely armful. Phil finds himself murmuring softly to his stranger like he would to an abused dog. It's more about tone than words, but he tells him that he's a good boy and that no one will hurt him now and that he's safe here. He even kisses his cheek, because werewolves have a way of making things like that not seem weird.

After a while of therapeutic cuddling, Clint comes in with an enormous stock pot of macaroni and cheese and an armload of bowls. Phil helps him set it all out, and stuffs his portion into his face as the others do the same. No one has anything even close to manners, and Phil is glad that he doesn't stand out. And it is kind of cute to see a woman as beautiful as Natasha eating like this, as well as very gratifying to see a guy as skinny as Bucky get a good meal.

When most of the noodles are gone, Tony pokes his head in. “Are you kids all right?”

“Doing better, you deceptive creature,” Bucky says with a smile.

Tony smiles back. “I was just glad I could glamour you. Does it still hurt where Clint shot you?”

“Nah, the arrow head was steel,” Bucky says. “It's better now.”

“Which is good to hear,” Clint adds, serving himself a small third helping.

“Thank you both,” Bucky says, “for stopping me.”


	18. Chapter 18

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Phil is still happy to be having such a Learning Experience. Here he is under the same roof with a seidmann, a real berserker, and a servitor wolf. None of the three are common at all, and especially not in America. Seid is a traditional Aesir magic dwindling in the face of New Age techniques, and men hardly ever take it up, and true berserkers are almost unheard of these days, while some less-informed hunters actually think that servitor wolves are a myth. Phil knows better, but Bucky is the first one he has ever met. Loki and Thor haven't gotten up yet, but Bucky has joined Phil, Natasha, and Clint for breakfast.

“You don't smell any different,” Natasha says after Bucky explains that his master is out there somewhere, lying dormant. Her voice is soft and not at all flippant, because Bucky's eyes are full of such deep sorrow, but he chuckles.

“No, I don't,” he says, “But I can show you the mark.”

Phil has never seen one of these marks, and he looks more closely than is really polite when Bucky pulls the collar of his shirt aside to show them. They have to look closely, but sure enough, there they are. It looks almost like a snakebite piercing with mother of pearl beads, tiny and beautiful spots of multicolored shine very low on the left side of Buck's neck.

“Pretty,” Natasha says softly, and sits back. Phil does the same even though he wants to keep studying the mark. “So, how do we help you find your master?”

Bucky sighs. “I think I can do it myself, I just need to get stronger.”

“Okay,” Natasha says, squeezing his hand, “but you're not a lone wolf. Let us know if you need your pack.” Bucky smiles at her, squeezing back, and Phil leaves them alone to be wolves together. Thor has already had his breakfast and is out in the backyard, shirtless and apparently enjoying the snow. The merrow boy is with him, chattering away about something. Phil can't hear, and quietly withdraws to keep from interrupting.

“He's in a good position to understand animal traits,” Loki murmurs behind him, and Phil turns to see him standing there in bare feet, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“I suppose so,” Phil says. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been a vampire drinking fountain for the past two weeks,” he says, smiling a little. “But also like I'm beginning to recover.”

Phil follows him back to the kitchen, now empty of wolves, and keeps him company while he eats his own breakfast and then provides a rapt audience for a basic explanation of the seid system as they clean up. Apparently it's almost all threadwork, the kind of thing Phil's grandmother used to do. Granny had actually taught him a bit, and when he says so, Loki grins, flicking water from his long and elegant hands.

“You're pretty masculine, but I did notice that you're ergi enough to show good sense.”

Phil passes him a clean hand towel. “I like to think that good sense knows no gender, but thanks.”

Loki just chuckles, drying his hands and neatly hanging the towel. He adjusts his blanket again and wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. I think I'm going to have to have an after-breakfast nap, like an old man.”

“I'm surprised you're on your feet,” Phil says, and walks Loki back up to the room he's sharing with Thor and Bruce. Sharing with Bruce also means sharing with Tony, who is currently playing with magnets, a pair of chopsticks in each hand to keep him from touching iron directly. He looks about as fascinated as Phil's three-year-old nephew does when someone lets him hold a glow stick, and Phil has to smile. Bruce is on their shared bed, reading, and he looks up to gaze tenderly at Tony and then to blush and hide behind his book again when he realizes that Phil has caught him. Phil suppresses a chuckle and helps heave Loki into bed and then get the blankets tucked in around him. Bruce offers to turn off the light, but Loki just waves a dismissive hand, rolling to face the wall.

“I'm from Asgard, I'll just pretend it's summer.”

“Summer in the far north is so fun,” Tony says, still playing with his magnets. “Bruce, baby, can we go to Asgard next summer?”

“If we have some human currency for food, sure.”

“I know some trolls that'll give us all the elk we can hold,” Tony offers, and Phil grins, leaving him and Bruce to their quiet and good-natured argument. He calls Nick to find out how the zombie thing is going to and report that he has not been juiced. This time. Nick has similar good news, still possessing his good eye and most of his team. Old Kenderhaus is no more, but he had always wanted to die with his boots on, anyway.

“Took out a dozen of the bastards without a gun, bless him,” Nick says, and suddenly Phil misses him so much it makes his chest hurt. He can just see his friend now, sitting in some cheap motel in New Mexico, wearing his striped bathrobe and drinking rum and horchata through a straw even though it's probably before noon there.

“At least our trainee is still alive,” Phil says, “and she's a good one.”


	19. Chapter 19

Phil isn't sure what he's expecting when evening rolls around, but Natasha just takes his hand and tows him into a bedroom that contains Clint and Bucky, already cuddled up. Bruce has been touching Bucky all day, with a bitten wolf's impulse to keep the gestures subtle and human, a hand on the shoulder, a hug, a brief touch along the ribs, that kind of thing. He is apparently excused from the true puppypile that Phil has now been invited to join. Bucky is holding Clint to his chest like a teddy bear, and Clint smiles up at Phil, reaching for him. Phil obliges, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into their warm nest of blankets. Natasha smiles, kissing his forehead and going around to snuggle in at Bucky's back. Natasha switches off the light, and there's nothing but soft breathing and body heat and the scent of the four of them together. Phil might be a little too awake for this.

“We're thinking of taking Phil as a third mate,” Natasha murmurs, like she's proposing they go to the grocery store tomorrow, and Phil can feel himself blushing.

“Good choice,” Bucky says. “He's capable and he smells nice.”

Clint chuckles, hugging Phil. “You're embarrassing him. But you do smell nice,” he adds more softly, and Phil lets out a flustered little whine, feeling a bit better as Clint's arms tighten around him. “We can have a human-to-human talk tomorrow,” he says.

“Okay,” is all Phil can think to say, and in the silence after, everyone's breathing starts to fall into rhythm. Phil drifts slowly toward sleep, and he dreams of a dark and ancient forest full of starlight and the howling of wolves. Real howling wakes him, and he flounders into consciousness to find Natasha sitting up and holding Bucky's head and shoulders in her arms as he clings to her and tries to calm down, his face buried in her solar plexus. Clint wakes up as Phil does, and is rubbing Bucky's back in soothing circles almost before his eyes are fully open. Within a minute Bucky is quiet, just whining dismally, muffled against Natasha's belly.

“Is everyone all right?” Maria calls through the door.

“Yes!” Clint calls back.

“Should I let Bruce in?”

“Yes!”

She does, and then goes away. Bruce hovers uncertainly for a bit, and then comes to help hug Bucky. Phil groans and rubs his eyes.

“Should I be helping?”

“You're helping by being calm,” Clint says, the wolves apparently all reduced to facial expressions and little snuffling and whimpering noises. “Thanks, by the way.”

“You're welcome,” Phil says, and moves closer, petting Bucky's hair when Natasha tells him to with a look. The longer one spends around werewolves, the easier it becomes to speak without words.

“You will find your master,” Natasha croons to Bucky, rocking him a little. “He lies somewhere in the clean earth, dreaming of you.”

Eventually they all get to sleep again, but Phil wakes up a little anxious, having to lie there and listen to the kids thundering out to the school as he remembers that he's worrying about Bucky. “It sucks being responsible,” Phil mutters aloud, and Clint comes in just in time to hear him and laugh.

“It does,” he says, and sits on the edge of the bed. “But don't worry. All our wolves are out back with Tony, working on calling Bucky's master.”

“I feel like I should be witnessing that to add to the store of Shield knowledge,” Phil says, and then yawns. 

Clint smiles. “I'm sure Tasha will tell us about it afterward.” He stretches out next to Phil, resting his head on his shoulder. “And we need to talk.”

“Human to human?” Phil asks, and Clint laughs.

“Yeah. Do you actually wanna be our third mate? Tasha just decides these things, and not everyone can handle that.”

Phil blushes. “I... You're both intelligent, gorgeous, and capable. Being around the pair of you feels comfortable and right.” He shrugs, turning his head to study Clint's stubbly profile, almost too close to see properly. “It's weird. I feel like I've known both of you for a hell of a lot longer than I have.”

Clint chuckles. “Wolves are like that.” He rolls onto his side to look into Phil's eyes, smiling slightly. “So. We weren't moving in on you before because there was no time.”

“And now there is,” Phil says, more to himself than to Clint. It's a strange and frightening realization, and it must show in his face because Clint hugs him even as he laughs.

“We can take it slow if that's what you want, you know.”

“What I want right now is to kiss you,” Phil says, and he finally, finally does. It's warm and slow and Phil moans as Clint rolls on top of him. He slides his hands up Clint's arms, shivering at the touch of the new, rough scars from the cauterized bites and then clutching at his shoulders and whimpering as the kiss gets deeper and rougher, Clint's calloused hands cupping Phil's face as the two of them melt together in the late-morning sun.


	20. Chapter 20

Eventually Phil does go out to see how the wolves are getting on, but it's a slow process, and he's holding Clint's hand when he finally steps out into the yard. The snow is a complete mess now, churned up and covered with dirt, and Tony is sitting in one of the filthy drifts and making a dirtman while Bruce and Natasha sit on either side of a hole in the cold earth. When they get closer they can see into it where Bucky is on his belly with his face pressed into the dirt and roots. There's a lupine musk to the air, and all three of them look up with eyes shaded wolf-yellow.

“How's it going?” Clint asks, and Natasha smiles.

“We'll know where he is soon. And then we'll find him, and then Bucky will be all right.”

Bruce looks a little hazy, and makes a weird growling noise before he finds his words again. “This whole thing is really weird,” he says. “I wish I understood the types of energy at play better.”

“You mortals and your physics,” Tony says, flitting away from his dirtman to settle behind Bruce, looking over his shoulder at Bucky. “I'll try to explain it to you sometime, honey-bear,” he coos, kissing Bruce's cheek.

“Thanks, sugarlump,” Bruce croons in return, and Tony laughs.

The wolves keep working all day, and Phil cleans and repairs his gear and does his best to help May pass on their combined wisdom to Skye while Bobbi helps Maria hang the prayer flags that will let Y'enjz's ride know which is the right house. It's a quiet day, and Clint listens as attentively to Phil and May's stories as Skye, fletching arrows with feathers donated by the swan maiden in the basement.

Long after sunset, Natasha and the others come in to shower off the earth. She's the first one to return, all pink and fluffy and wrapped in a clean white bathrobe. She leans over the back of the couch to kiss Clint's cheek, looking over at Phil. He smiles at her, and she smiles back before coming to sit by him and nuzzle his cheek in that friendly, canine way. They sit like that for a while, but there's more to be done.

It's getting near the time for Y'enzj to leave, and the siren girl fetches him down from the attic, holding his enormous hand. He looks huge and strange in the rest of the house, but his fur is in good condition and his eyes glow the soft red of a healthy yeti. Phil helps Maria comb him while Bobbi and Natasha go out to the yard to watch for his ride and all the kids say their farewells to Y'enzj, giving him little keepsakes, hugging him and stroking his fur. The siren girl will probably miss him the most, and she's still holding his hand when the wind picks up, suddenly wild and crisp, letting him them know that the lungta have come for Y'enzj.

Phil can barely see them at first, just two strange vortexes of wind, and then there are two pretty little Tibetan girls standing in the churned up, dirty snow and smiling at them. They're barefoot and identical, both wearing loose, summery dresses like it's not zero degrees and windy. One of them has a scroll and the other has a box, and they give both to Y'enzj. The scroll is a letter in the complex yeti script, and the box contains a little package of yak jerky for Y'enzj, and a huge, white fur.

Maria and Bobbi can both read a little yeti script, so Y'enzj gives Bobbi the letter and Maria the fur. He looks sad to be leaving them, and gives Phil a huge, furry hug when he's not expecting it. Phil hugs back, and tries to communicate how happy he is for the kid. The lungta come and take his hands at last, one of them tenderly patting the siren girl on the shoulder before there's another rush of wind. There's a sound of hoofbeats in it and the idea of horses and all three of them are gone.

Maria leads them back inside, and she and Bobbi do their best to translate the letter, which contains a note to Y'enzj, that his parents miss him and will be happy to see him again, and then to Maria, thanking her profusely for looking after their poor, lost son and hoping that a quality snow lion pelt will express some small part of their gratitude. Phil has heard of snow lions, of course, but having spent no time in Tibet he needs Bobbi to explain the real benefits of the fur. Of course it's warm and incredibly soft, but it's also a powerful instrument of healing, which is why Maria sends the siren girl to bed with it. Unlike the fur of normal animals, a snow lion pelt will also keep the person wearing it from overheating, so the girl can use it without having to sleep in the yard or on the roof and get child protective services called on them or something. Healing doesn't only mean healing of the body, and Phil is very glad to see the girl carrying it away upstairs.


	21. Chapter 21

Since Bucky is feeling better now, he's willing to sleep in a pile with Bruce and Tony, and Phil suddenly finds himself alone with Clint and Natasha, everyone freshly-bathed and at least mostly recovered from their injuries. It's a little bit much to handle, and at first he just lies there flat on his back and lets both of them cover him with kisses. Natasha licks and bites a lot, and each graze of her teeth makes Phil whine and clutch at both of them, so lithe and strong and wild in his arms. When she opens her jaws over his windpipe he makes a sound he doesn't even recognize, melting even more completely.

“Fuck, that's hot to watch,” Clint breathes, and Phil moans quietly at the mental image. Natasha growls, letting go to kiss Clint. They communicate for a moment in that silent wolf way, and then Clint is rolling Phil onto his belly, presumptuous as anything, but Phil doesn't mind, muffling a louder moan in the pillow as both of them pull off the pajama pants he wore to bed. “Okay?” Clint asks, squeezing his ass and letting his fingertips trail into the cleft.

“Y-yes,” Phil breathes, and then Natasha's slick fingers are right beside Clint's.

“Okay?” she asks, sounding amused the way werewolves usually do when they're making the effort to Use Their Words for the well-being of humans.

“Yes,” Phil says again, and whimpers as Clint covers his back in kisses and Natasha fucks him on two fingers for a long time, getting him ragged and strung out and desperate before rolling a condom onto Clint and guiding him into Phil. It has been a long time, but the slide in is smooth and easy, and Phil nearly smothers himself trying to keep quiet. He grits his teeth to hold back a loud whine when Natasha pulls his head out of the pillow, but then rises onto his knees to let her slide under him with another condom.

It doesn't last long because it can't, not with Phil trapped between them, full of Clint and grinding deep into Natasha. They kiss over his shoulder and murmur lovingly into his ears. Telling him how soft and warm and strong he is, how good he feels and how much they want him. Natasha guides him to bite her shoulder instead of the pillow, and the three of them come all together in one complex convulsion, a pileup of sensation.

The next morning, Bucky won't stop grinning at them and it would be really annoying if it wasn't so nice to see him happy. It's another day of recuperation for Phil, while Bucky spends the whole time in the hole in the backyard, finally emerging at sunset with a wide and happy smile.

“Found him,” is all he says, and Natasha hugs him tightly.

“We'll come with you to collect him,” she says. Phil doesn't mind being pledged to the cause, but May and Skye have to get back to Skye's lore training, and Bobbi had been on her way to taking a sabbatical somewhere warm when Phil had called in the favor she owed him, so the three of them leave early in the morning. It's always sad to say goodbye to May, but at least this time Phil has a werewolf and her mate in his bed when he goes back to it. Natasha cuddles him as if something far worse has happened, and he's glad to let her do it, comforted by how soft she is and how strong.

After they've been lying together in a cozy pile for at least an hour, Clint chuckles. “You gonna live, Phil?”

“I think I'll struggle through somehow,” he says primly, and they both laugh, Natasha licking his cheek.

“Good,” she says, and he can practically see her tail wagging. He chuckles and wipes his face on the back of his hand, snuggling into her arms again. Clint wraps himself around Phil from behind, kissing the back of his neck, and Phil shivers, letting out a little noise when Clint bites gently.

They're late to breakfast, but Bucky just grins at them, and Maria has kept their plates warm in the oven. The kids are off at school and the house is so strangely quiet without Y'enzj and with almost half of the adult population gone. It's not a bad quietness, though, if a little lonely. Bucky draws the best map he can for the benefit of humans, with Clint at one shoulder and Natasha at the other. They're talking quietly over the best route and what gear they'll need as Maria and Phil clean up, when there's a sudden blast of wind through the backyard, rattling bare branches and making them all look out through the glass door. It ends as suddenly as it began, however, and then there's just a small package falling to earth, a flash of pink. 

When they go out to investigate it, they find that the pink is cloth tied around a small wooden box with Yeti script on it. Inside is small scroll that Maria says is a thank-you note from Y'enzj, and some small things that look like pearls. Phil's eyes widen as he realizes that they're icemoons, rare and mystical fruit that grant partial immunity to cold. And one hell of a trip for any human that eats more than two of them, a possibility Clint seems a little too interested in.


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning they depart to collect Bucky's master. They have stakes and holy water in case it's some kind of trap and there are more Red Room vampires nearby, as well as a lot of regular ordinance for human trouble and a huge blanket, some soap and water, and one of Maria's stock pots to heat it in, because dormant vampires tend to be covered in dirt. Bucky has been much more careful about the cleaning supplies than the weapons, which is a good sign. He and Natasha get very wolfy on the drive, hanging their heads out the window to drink the wind.

Bucky doesn't want to talk about how the Red Room acquired him, but Natasha has laid the basic sketch out for Phil. His master, whose name he will not speak until they are together again, had been captured by Hydra, a pack of remorseless and unworthy hunters made of what was left of the Thule Society in the wake of the second World War. That that was twenty years ago, but Bucky knows that he's still alive because the servitor wolf dies with its master.

“I can also feel the clean earth,” Bucky says, when Phil asks him what he can sense about his master's location. “That's why I'm pretty sure Hydra doesn't have him anymore,” he adds. They're sitting in the back seats of the van, eating deli sandwiches and waiting for Clint to emerge from the rest stop bathroom. “Those fuckers were keeping him in a concrete box, and he was awake.” He chuckles sadly, and Natasha leans on him to comfort him. “Stubborn little bastard probably ran away on no fucking blood and had to bury himself when the sun came up,” Bucky says, his voice full of fond exasperation. “He's sleeping now, and the earth is good. It's a huge relief to me.”

Sure enough, in the end they don't need any of their weapons at all. Bucky guides them from the main drag onto a network of smaller and smaller back roads until they're in some kind of tiny national park that only Bucky has ever heard of. They keep driving further up and further in, until they have to get out of the van and walk a winding path up the side of a mountain.

Bucky finds his master in a small clearing near the top of the hill. Luckily for them, it's already close to sunset. The ground is completely undisturbed, but he goes to the center of it and starts digging with his hands. Phil and Clint are carrying trowels, since full-size shovels seem like such a terrible idea. They drop to the ground beside him, making the dirt fly until Bucky touches something soft and pale and stops everything. For one terrible moment Phil thinks that Bucky is wrong, that they've found a dead child or some missing white girl, but over the hour it takes to carefully work Bucky's master out of the dirt, Phil can see that he's a very tiny and rather pretty adult male. He's skin and bones, but his hair is like gold and his skin is like alabaster through the brown dust and red clay. There's something familiar about his face when Bucky dusts the worst of it off, but Phil can't place it.

Bucky carries Steve back to the van, and they know he's Steve now because Bucky has found him again and Phil is so fucking happy he can hardly stand it. Bucky washes Steve behind the van, rinsing and rinsing until he's all clean and the water runs clear. It takes everything they've brought and they're all still dirty, but none of them can really bring themselves to care. Steve is a fragile little bundle in Bucky's arms, naked and beautiful. He's still dead to the world, but his skin has gone from nearly blue to a healthier white just from being in physical contact with his wolf.

All three of them walk away to let Bucky wake his master in private. They lurk in the bushes until Bucky calls them back. When they come, they find him sitting in the back of the van with tiny little Steve in his arms, rubbing his back and holding him close, making sure that he's warm. 

“I need to feed him,” Bucky says. “It'll be awkward for you guys, but we should get on the road.”

They head out of the park again, playing loud music to ignore the crying and soft moaning and precious greetings in the back. Natasha keeps blushing because she can smell it anyway, but Phil and Clint do a pretty good job of ignoring it by talking about sports and turning the radio up even louder.

A long, long last they come to Maria's house again. It's the small hours of the morning, but she's waiting up for them, with a cup of hot chocolate, and the eldest phoenix girl for company. They both beam at the sight of Bucky with what they know to be his master in his arms, and rush to fix up a guest room for them. Steve already looks much better, flushed pink with Bucky's blood.


	23. Chapter 23

Phil wakes up slowly, rolling over and finding Clint still asleep, warm and heavy. He hugs him, and nuzzles his neck, slowly nudging him awake. “What is it, boy?” Clint mumbles. “Timmy in the well again?” Phil makes dog noises and Clint laughs, opening his eyes. “Hey.” He's so fucking gorgeous in the morning light that Phil has to kiss him, has to cling to him a little to be quite sure that he's real. “Hey,” Clint murmurs again, gentling him now instead of greeting him, rubbing a soothing circle on Phil's back. “What's up?”

“I just... this feels a little unreal.”

Clint chuckles. “That'll wear off. I remember when Tasha picked me up. Kind of a long story, but the point is that she just walked up and took my hand one day and hasn't left me since.”

“I feel very privileged to be allowed into this relationship,” Phil says, and Clint laughs, kissing him.

“We're lucky to have you. Want to get some breakfast and check on the vampire?”

“Of course.”

The kitchen is full of sunlight, and Natasha is there, beaming at them and cracking more eggs into the skillet in front of her. Clint goes over to kiss her cheek as Phil thanks her and opens the fridge on a hunt for juice. There's only a little orange left, but a fresh container of blueberry-pomegranate, and he brings it to the table, blushing as Natasha leaves the eggs in Clint's care to come and kiss him good morning.

“We were wondering how our little pal was doing,” Clint says, as Phil sets the table, and Natasha laughs.

“I hear he's a daywalker, so--”

And there he is, standing in the kitchen doorway, safe in the shade of the hall. He studies them all with huge, crystal blue eyes, and he's wearing an enormous t-shirt of Bucky's. It's pristine, fresh from the package white, and it makes him look like an angel. Phil feels the ridiculous urge to scoop this stranger up and cuddle him. Instead, of course, he smiles and wishes him a good morning.

Steve smiles back. “Mornin'. You're Phil, right?”

“Right. And this is Natasha, and Clint,” he says, gesturing to the relevant person each time. Steve bows to each of them, and Clint goes to pull half the curtains, putting an empty seat into shadow. It's only when Steve sits down that they see the cross he's wearing. Phil stares, because this is something else he has only heard of. Crosses glow around vampires. It's one of the things that makes them so useful, but this smooth little pendant of what looks like dark wood lies quiet against the white of his shirt. 

Steve smiles, and touches it lightly. “It's a vampire's choice to be cut off from the Lord,” he says. “The sun does not burn my skin because it is unclean. God does not reject the worm.”

Phil can't help a little creaking noise in his throat because that's among the sayings of the Virtuous Fallen. “Are... are you...”

“Stephanos, called a saint?” he asks, with a self-conscious little smile.

“...Wow, they drew you a shitload taller in Phil's little book,” Clint says, staring, and Steve laughs.

“I was frail before I turned, and after too long going dry I shrink back again.” He sighs. “Poor Bucky. I can never thank you enough for freeing him.”

“He's pack to me and so are you,” Natasha says while Clint barely saves their food from burning. As he dishes up eggs that are crispy and brown on the edges and very dark toast, he asks if Steve would like anything. Vampires can ingest any liquid without trouble, and while it has no real benefit for them, and it lets them keep the living company. Steve opts to do so today with tea, and it's comfortable, sitting there and watching the steam coil up as it steeps. He asks questions about the current state of the world, and is just signing Phil's book when Bucky comes in. He's shirtless, revealing terrible scars all over, but as he kneels beside Steve's chair, he looks like there is nothing else he wants in the world. Steve has finished signing, so he can pass the book back to Phil and lean down to kiss the top of Bucky's head. Bucky hugs him around the waist, making the low growl-purr of a happy werewolf, and Phil blinks hard to make sure his eyes aren't filling with tears. Natasha squeezes his hand under the table.

“Ask 'em, boss,” Bucky is murmuring, and Phil looks over at them again.

“Ask us what?”

Steve squirms and looks away and Bucky sighs. “He'll need more blood than I've got to get back into top form as fast as possible.”

“And we'll provide!” Tony says, standing in the doorway and grinning. “We are gonna get you _wasted_ on monster blood, Phanny.”

“I told you not to call me that!” Steve snaps, and Tony just laughs, sauntering over and tweaking his nose.

“I was wondering where you'd got to,” he says, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“This stuff is why I went monotheist, Antonius,” he says, and Tony laughs again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a series, so yes, we will get to see Steve drink blood and recuperate, but I thought that would be better from his or Bucky's POV.


End file.
